


till i'm silver and old.

by scoundrelhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, F/M, M/M, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoundrelhan/pseuds/scoundrelhan
Summary: Over dinner, Cas will sometimes rub the ache out of his fingers with gentle ministrations. Dean’s noticed how long hours spent in the brutal sun have marked Cas’s arms, speckled his skin, and he’ll return the favor when he’s buzzing with the dull warmth of a couple of beers and the press of Cas’s body against his.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	till i'm silver and old.

Cas has an old, rusted watering can that weighs a ton and leaks in some places if he fills it up past a certain point. He’d found it one day when they were packing up the bunker, and hasn’t parted with it since then. There are these little hand-painted honeybees that decorate the mottled surface, and every once in awhile, Cas brings it inside to patiently repaint each insect with that meticulous, laser focus of his. Cas ignores Dean every time he tries suggesting they take a quick trip up to Home Depot and get him a brand new one, one that doesn’t waste water and make Dean’s elbow creak when he lifts it.

“This does the job perfectly fine, Dean. _”_

It drives Dean up the damn wall is what it does.

Living with Castiel means accepting all these annoying quirks. It means waking up at ass o’clock in the morning to freezing toes and loud snoring because Cas has terrible allergies and refuses to take anything for them. It means having to put up with sharing a bathroom with a man who wastes all the hot water on hour-long showers, and a man who still doesn’t know how to tie a tie right. When the two of them return from a particularly nasty hunt, and Dean finds out that Cas forgot to turn off the AC before they left for the _umpteenth time_ , he somehow finds it in himself to forgive him for all these obnoxious, money-wasting oddities because Cas makes some damn good coffee and eggs no matter what time of day it is.

Today, Dean finds himself hauling that dumbass watering can across the lawn he still has to mow later ( _the grass is nearly to his knees, for christ’s sake_ ), swearing under his breath when his elbow pops and grinds in its socket. His right hand is starting to act up, too. Over dinner, Cas will sometimes rub the ache out of his fingers with gentle ministrations. Dean’s noticed how long hours spent in the brutal sun have marked Cas’s arms, speckled his skin, and he’ll return the favor when he’s buzzing with the dull warmth of a couple of beers and the press of Cas’s body against his.

“One of these days, I’m just gonna throw this in the fucking trash where it belongs,” Dean huffs, sweat already pooling on the back of his neck and the dip of his back.

Cas just squints up at him from his place in the dirt with a bored expression, dark hair plastered against his forehead underneath his ridiculous straw hat. His hair starts to curl when it grows out, and right now, it’s a bird’s nest. Dean’ll give him a haircut tonight if he can find Dad’s old pair of scissors.

“Hand it over,” Cas says, motioning with a gloved hand, and Dean gladly forfeits the piece of junk. He swears he can hear his entire arm sigh in relief.

“The tomatoes look like they bounced back,” Dean comments as Cas stands up, tipping the watering can with both hands over a cluster of basil and rosemary. 

He remembers when Cas first started this whole gardening hobby, how the guy had insisted on purchasing tomatoes even though he doesn’t remotely like them. Dean had joking called them “their” plants, and Cas, being the weirdo that he is, decided to put in writing as _Dean and Castiel’s Tomatoes_ on one of the supporting poles in Sharpie. If he’s being honest with himself, Dean actually kind of likes it. In fact, if he’s being entirely honest, he’ll admit to sometimes retracing the words while Cas is busying uprooting weeds and humming some Top 40s song Dean knows the tune of but not the lyrics.

“I knew they would.” 

Cas takes off his hat for a moment, fanning himself and flashing Dean a tiny grin as if they’re sharing some great secret.

-

They work in tandem all day--Dean fetching water, and Cas spreading fertilizer. Dean waits till a little after five to mow. The tractor refuses to cooperate with him, and Dean handles the situation like any other grown man and shouts himself hoarse. He surrenders once the sun starts its descent, shadows bleeding along the barn floor like ink, and threatens he’ll be back tomorrow with the proper tools, fresh oil, and some fuel.

Cas is in the kitchen, elbow-deep in soapy water and dirty dishes, when Dean stomps through the door, exhausted and drenched in sweat. Dean joins him at the sink and starts drying in comfortable silence. They bump shoulders every once in a while, and Dean can see the smile playing at Cas’s lips, which only makes him laugh and shake his head.

“You doin’ that on purpose?”

Cas just hums.

“Maybe.”

Sometimes, Dean looks at Cas, takes in his uncut hair and quiet smiles, the way he slouches when he sits, how his hands shake when it’s a cold, and thinks, _This is it_. Dean thinks about how he’ll give Cas the bigger portion of the leftover Chinese, or how he’ll lend Cas another pair of gloves to fend off the chill of morning dew and blustery weather. He tries to remind himself how much things have changed. Dean doesn’t know when the universe shifted, doesn't know when the planets aligned just so and he agreed to buy a house, or when he complied with doing the dishes every other day and grilling burgers when the weather is bearable. 

This is the norm now. This is it.

There’s just something about Cas, something in his tired blue eyes and hand-me-down flannels frayed by one too many washes. Dean can’t imagine anyone taking Cas’s place in this house, anyone else tending to his herbs, or “secretly” feeding the stray cats that come through at least once a week. It’s so bizarre, surreal even, how the two of them fell into this domestic world together. Dean may be reminded of Cas’s non-human heritage at all the wrong times, but he honest-to-God wouldn’t have it any other way. 

If he thinks about it some more, Dean thinks he might be a little bit in love.

He thinks about being woken up by freezing toes, and allergy-induced snores. He thinks about cold showers, and backward ties. He even thinks about the stupid arguments over whose turn it is to hang the laundry, or what movie they should watch. They bicker, and they won’t talk for days on end, and Dean switches their toothpaste just to get a rise out of Cas every now and again. They’re good at fighting, but then they’re also good at watching Die Hard movies till four in the morning, curled up underneath a moth-eaten quilt and laughing over horrible one-liners. 

Dean sneaks a glance at the man beside him, takes in the messy dark curls and scruff-lined jaw, and thinks of _Dean and Castiel’s Tomatoes_. 

They have leftover pork sandwiches and cold beer for dinner on the porch steps, and Dean makes idle comments on all the small things he needs to fix. There’s a loose board near the front door under the doormat, and the paint’s starting to peel off on the railing, also the whole area could use a good sweeping. Cas, of course, promises he’ll assist him with whatever needs to be done.

“I like this place,” Cas says after they lapse into another silence.

“Me, too,” Dean agrees, picking at some dirt lodged underneath his broken nails. 

He looks over at Castiel’s hands, dangling casually between his knees, and notes that they’re in pretty bad shape as well.

“I’m glad this is where we ended up.”

Dean meets Cas’s eyes, softened by the light of the setting sun, and it hits him like a ton of bricks that maybe, just maybe Cas loves him back, loves him in the way he works the pain out of Dean’s knuckles, loves him in the way he’ll stay up with Dean when he can’t chase away the nightmares.

“Yeah, so am I, Cas,” Dean says, and settles his shaking hand over the hole in Cas’s jeans just above his kneecap. “Sam says he’s gonna come visit next Wednesday with Eileen.”

“She’s a nice woman,” Cas hums, leg shifting closer until their thighs touch enough to drive Dean nuts.

“She’s good for him, I think,” Dean agrees, and reaches down a step and picks up a forgotten bottlecap, turning the warm metal over in his palm just so, and watches the light refract off of it. 

In the beginning, a small part of Dean had resented her. He’d resented her for giving Sam something Dean couldn’t, for Sam leaving, for everything. It took months, but after seeing his brother happy—well and truly _happy_ —he grudgingly accepted that Eileen is a positive addition to their little family. She’s beautiful, and hilarious, and totally out of Sam’s league, but the kid deserves it.

“Do you think they’ll get married?”

A familiar palm settles over the back of Dean’s hand and he doesn’t hold back the wide smile fighting to tug up the corners of his mouth. He can feel sunburn on his cheeks, but it doesn’t fucking matter.

“If you and I can settle down somewhere, then they sure as hell can. I mean, shit, I thought I’d be dead for good by now, or at least half out of my mind,” Dean jokes, but there’s no humor in it. 

He doesn’t know what makes him say what he says next, but Dean says its anyway

“You know, I didn’t think you’d stay here. With me.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Cas’s voice is tentative. Dean flips his hand so their fingers can lace together. He rubs his thumb over Cas's tanned knuckles, traces the sunspots sprouting across his once unblemished skin. Dean doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t know what _to_ say, so he continues marking the freckles on Cas’s hand, basking in the simplicity of human touch till the fireflies come out and the sky turns navy blue.

-

Their shared room is sweltering despite having all the windows open and two fans going. At this point, there are no more excuses left for why Dean still sleeps here. They’ve got three other bedrooms, all furnished and renovated, but he can’t bring himself to move out. Cas, thankfully, never comments on it. Dean strips down to his boxers while Cas brushes his teeth, and ends up lying down on top of the suffocating blankets. Dean rolls onto his side when the lights go out and the king mattress dips with added weight. He has to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There’s some more rustling of sheets before Cas tells Dean to scoot over and they’re ripped away completely.

“I should’ve cut your hair, Shirley Temple,” Dean whispers, reaching out to tug at one of Castiel’s flyaway curls once they settle back into their previous positions. 

Another beat of silence, and he adds, “D’you ever wonder how we ended up like this?”

“All the time,” Cas murmurs back, voice already thickening with sleep. “Every day, I wonder how I could be so lucky.”

“I’d hardly call this lucky,” Dean scoffs, and drops his hand back to the bed. 

“You could be anywhere you wanted, yet you’re happy being stuck here in a shitty old house with shitty old me.”

“You are not shitty, nor are you old, Dean. I am where I want to be. I assumed that was obvious.”

Dean wants to say so much. He wants to explode, spill his guts, lay it all out for the two of them to see. He wants to tell Cas about how he retraces  _ Dean and Castiel’s Tomatoes _ religiously. He wants to tell him all those past, forgotten words from some gas station parking lot from not so long ago. All the scary, earth-shattering things that rushed through Dean’s mind when their eyes met in the rearview mirror driving to another hunt.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Cas pipes up, fingertips trailing over the hairs of Dean’s forearm and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I’m thinkin’ a lot of things,” Dean chuckles, and then swears when Cas pinches his arm with a long-suffering _ Dean _ . 

“Alright, alright,  _ ow _ . I’m, uh, I’m thinking about this house, and how we should think about making it into a halfway house for other hunters to crash. We could do it, you and I. I mean, everything’s warded down to the fucking foundations, and this is about as secluded as you get…”

It’s not what he’s thinking, but it is an idea he’s been toying with for a while. He’s done with the life, but not really. It will always be a part of him, the need to help people. Dean hears the springs squeak as Cas moves closer, close enough that Dean can make out the curve of his mouth.

“That’s a great idea,” Cas murmurs, breath ghosting over Dean’s chin, and he thinks this is it. He’s gone.

“You always think I have great ideas.”

“That’s not true. Remember the duct tape incident, or should I say inci _ dents _ ? Those were far from great, Dean. You could have gotten killed--”

He’s so fucking in love with Cas that he could die, and it’s so easy to lean forward, have their noses bump into each other, brush his top lip against Cas’s. Cas sighs like he’s been holding his breath all this time, like he’s been waiting for Dean to grow a pair and  _ do it _ . That’s all Dean needs. They’ve been teetering on this edge for so long, and it’s so nice to fall, to not care about what’s waiting on the other side because Cas is kissing him like this is the only time they’ll have.

He breathes the words into the hollows of Cas’s mouth, mumbles them into the jut of his collarbone and the curve of his shoulder. Dean keeps repeating them, and he can’t seem to stop, telling Cas over and over again that he needs him, that this is what he wants, what he’ll always want. Maybe there will be a day when he plucks up the courage and tells Cas that he’s the first person Dean’s ever well and truly loved like this. Maybe he’ll tell him tomorrow, maybe in a year. That’s the beauty of it all. They’ve got so much time to spend together, so much time to figure this all out.

Cas wraps himself around Dean, breaking away to suck in much-needed air, and before Dean can tell him how amazing that all was, he can feel Cas’ breathing even out, the rise and fall of his chest steadying against Dean’s. It’s wonderful, he decides, being wrapped up in Cas, to smell the remnants of soil and herbs beneath mint shampoo. It’s all so wonderful, and Dean is soon lulled by the hitched snores escaping Cas’ slack mouth, falling into a peaceful rest with his lips pressed against his best friend’s forehead.


End file.
